the strugle on how to write
A couple of years ago, I’ve made ‘The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity’, from Julia Cameron, and I’ve managed to write for 3 months, every day, in the early hours. It felt good at the time, and somehow it opened some inside doors. Unfortunately after, I couldn’t keep the recent habit of writing, first thing in the morning, even before my coffee.
I’ve been on and off on writing, all my life. One of these days I got into my adolescent days, to understand why I was always writing at the time (I wrote love letters for my friends’ sweethearts, signed for them, can you imagine!?). I even asked myself why I’ve always chosen prose instead of poetry; it seems that I loved to write just for the pleasure of fill in pages and pages.
So, the big question for my youngest me was: what happened to my relation with paper and pen? How did I forgot the good feeling of writing?
I’ve been resisting the idea of keeping a journal, as I don’t want my kids to deal with it at some point of their lives, nor do I want to throw my journals away, as it would me that I would be throwing out.
Even so, one of these days I’ve decided to write just one page, in the morning, before everything. It felt good. So I decided to repeat it. Only when I can. No pressure. Just words.
I’ve learned some lessons with this small step:
1. It’s a bliss to write, just for pleasure. I remember it now. No pressure, just putting one word after the other (it came to me talking with my husband, who goes for a morning walk, and claims about it as it’s just one step after the other).
2. I’m not worried at all to make any sense. It’s morning time, I’m awake, blured with messed thoughts. And that’s fine for me!
Just by accepting that I’ve no pressure on me, I got to the cherry:
As soon as I’m writing the 1st idea, I just go for more and often I find what’s worrying me inside, what’s on the back of my mind.
My morning writings turned easily into a kind of a daily journal. But instead of listing what I’m doing, or what I’ve learned about my day, I’m wording me inside, for what’s coming in the next hours or days. I’ve found me writing daily about what is challenging me, what is consuming me.
Sometimes it’s just wording a daydream. Other times I start desperate, because I’m feeling down with something, or I’m struggling to get into a decision, or I’m trying to find the right moves, or looking up for the right words to close an argument.
Soon as I start, the ideas come into me. The words jump from my pen, into the page. And one page has been enough. My brain, my words fit accordingly. As I’m always choosing to live with words in a small apartment, with a view by the sea. With that view I don’t need any clutter, right?